


A Very Suplex City Christmas

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Series: Tales Of Suplex City [5]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas Special, Gen, Holidays, LORD ALMIGHTY, Mental Health Issues, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Suplex City AU, THIS IS SO LONG, Worldbuilding, there is so much stuff going on here, welcome to hell - Freeform, wrestlers without the wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 11:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: Thirsty/Holiday Crew, hello! This is way too long, not thirsty at all and full of nonsense.  I've wanted to make a proper Holiday-style special for ages, but more on the bittersweet side of things. Think more 'Merry Christmas Darling' by the Carpenters, complete with moody probably-Catholic church ruminations.[x-posted to Tumblr]Enjoy!





	A Very Suplex City Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> [!TRIGGER WARNING!: Mentions of depression, mentions of alcohol/drug abuse, mental illness and canon-typical violence. Stay safe!]

Mick hadn’t grown up with much. He had fought tooth and nail for every little good thing that he _did_ get; gone to war time and again in his youth for food, shelter, freedom. Endured more than anyone should have to, but that was par for the course in this city. 

  
  


In his advanced age now, there wasn’t much he needed. He dedicated his time to making sure that the poor of the city at least had a fighting chance, hot food in their bellies before they tried to find shelter for the night. The snow came down heavier and faces grew thinner, like they did every year. Funding was being cut, though that didn’t affect Mick much due to the Deadman’s suspicious generosity. 

  
  


Maybe ‘Taker still felt guilty about what had happened. Mick’s body had never been the same since their heated battle in the Underground. His incredible ability to heal could only go so far, after all. 

  
  


Mick stirred the large pot of beef stew and then tested the taste of the small pot of vegetable stew simmering on the burner beside it. Sometimes Regal sent his boys over to shovel the front walk and ‘dissuade’ anyone that might cause trouble. William didn’t put much stock in  _ charity _ . It looked like tonight was one of those nights, because Mick saw a shovelful of snow go sailing past one of the windows. He knew that all three of them were vegetarians (or was it vegans?) and while produce tended to be on the expensive side, it was well worth it to see the looks on their faces when they realized he made a small pot just for them.

  
  


The food could take care of itself for a few minutes. Mick headed for the front doors, poking his head out through one of the broken panes. “Happy almost Christmas, boys!” He called.

  
  


“Mister Foley, a pleasure as always! Merry Christmas Eve eve!” Trent boomed. Ever boisterous and jovial, his personality seemed larger than life. He was a man of solid sturdy stock, sporting a thick, blond beard and blue eyes that were always bright with the beginnings of a new joke.

  
  


Beside him, ‘young’ Tyler chuckled and leaned on his own shovel. Of a more lithe build than Trent, he was blond as well and sported a well-kept mustache for being so young (no doubt influenced by Trent).

  
  


At last Mick’s focus shifted to Pete, the quietest of the three. Pete wore a permanent glower, and he hadn’t stopped shoveling when Mick had made his appearance. He also didn’t seem to have any  _ gloves _ . His large, square shoulders strained at the fabric of his long coat, the jacket obviously a leftover or hand me down from years past. 

  
  


“Pete?” Mick began carefully, overused to the young man’s prickly nature.

  
  


“M’ fine. Tyla’ needed ‘em.” Pete said curtly. Even with all the time he spent in the company of the perpetually easygoing Trent and cheery to a fault Tyler, Pete had always displayed the emotional spectrum of a slab of granite. 

  
  


“I do, my hands are quite sensitive.” Tyler said with a grin, wiggling his fingers in the threadbare brown gloves. “Ya’ got raw weather up in these parts, Mister Foley.”

  
  


Mick had seen the three of them easily take down men who outmatched them in a multitude of categories, but right now to his mind they were simply children at Christmas time.  _ Gloves _ . Mick eyed the lack of headgear on all three young men.  _ Hats _ . His attention fell to the stressed seams of Pete’s coat.  _ Jacket _ . He would have to let Regal know.

  
  


“You boys want some dinner before we kick things off for the night? You all must be hungry.” Mick offered.

  
  


“Once we’re done shovelin’ you out, absolutely. Thank you sir.” Tyler accepted graciously for the three of them, giving Mick a smile.

  
  


…

  
  


Pete stopped shoveling when Mick returned inside, the other two ceasing their motions as well. “He's still over there.” Pete muttered, glaring in irritation as the snow continued to blow in his face. It didn't matter. He didn't need to _see_ to know that the wretch he had spotted earlier was still watching them.

  
  


The sheep had taken up a post at the corner of the building just outside the circle of light from the door, mask concealing his features. 

  
  


It was never a good sign when one of the Family was stock-still like that. It meant that Wyatt was  _ observing _ , using the audio-visual links in the mask to extend his reach.

  
  


Pete tightened his hold on the shovel.

  
  


Without warning, the sheep bolted forward. Pete barely had a second to sidestep and then Tyler was slamming the attacker to the ground. The sheep and the young man rolled back and forth in the snow, Tyler's chokehold tight as an anaconda coil. The masked man raked at Tyler's eyes and the young man yelped in outrage, grip loosening enough to let the other man lunge upright once more. He looked left and right, clearly realizing that he was surrounded.

  
  


“Now, how many fingers do I have to break before you decide not to use y’ hands for somethin’ nefarious?” Trent grinned, cracking his knuckles. 

  
  


“He’s a sheep, Trent.” Tyler’s smile was just as broad while he accepted Pete's hand up, and he smoothed a careful finger over the right tail of his mustache. “He _an’_ Wyatt aren't even smart enough to respect the fact that this kitchen is neutral ground, never mind the fuckin’ holiday. Fleecy, unless y’ want us to have Petey boy put his hands on ya’, I _suggest_ y’ be off.”

  
  


The man pulled up the mask just enough to spit on Trent’s boots. 

  
  


The bearded man’s smile froze. “Pete?”

  
  


Pete grunted, pulling his perpetually-cold hands out of his pockets and rubbing them together to try and warm up. “Last chance.” He warned the masked individual, “Once I start, I can’t put anythin’ back, ‘ey? Look sharp.”

  
  


The unknown man _hissed_ at him like a feral cat. “Obviously there ‘ent much to put back in the first place.” Tyler jibed. “Jus’ do it Pete. We’ve got stew waitin’ for us inside.”

  
  


With more delicacy than anyone would have expected given his large frame and sullen expression, Pete easily stripped the man of his mask and pressed his palm over the man’s eyes. 

  
  


Memories trickled sluggishly into his head, achy like an old bruise. Usually Pete was flooded, almost incapacitated by the information overload. But not this time. He had to scrape the bottom of the proverbial barrel just to dig up a possible next of kin. Wyatt had taken so much from this sheep.

  
  


“ Jeff.” Pete said slowly, pulling away. “He’s got a brother named Jeff.”  _ His brother is luminescent, brilliant, shines in the dark like cat eyes. A magnet for trouble in the void of the Underground _ . “He’s not dead, but I…”  _ There’s something else with him _ . “I…I dunno’. Somethin’ odd about him.” Pete shrugged, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

  
  


“Alright lad, up y’ get then. What’s your name?” Tyler asked, helping the man stand while Trent whipped the sheep mask carelessly out into the street. This was always the moment of truth, where they would find out whether Pete had done more harm than good. 

  
  


The older man swallowed hard, looking incredibly dazed. There was a vibrant white shock streak in his dark hair that heralded some terrible trauma. “Matt.” He breathed finally. Pete exhaled a harsh sigh of relief. 

  
  


“Well Matt, we’re Regal’s boys. An’ we’d appreciate if y’ went inside an’ got some stew in ya’.” Trent urged. “It’s Christmas Eve eve after all.”

  
  


“Eve…eve?”

  
  


“Yeah, the twenty-third. The day before the day before.” Tyler explained.

  
  


Matt cracked an exhausted-looking smile. “I see. I’ll…yes, I’ll go inside. Stew sounds good. It’s…it’s very cold out here, isn't it?” It was only half a question, as though he wasn't entirely certain himself.

  
  


“No place for lads without proper jackets.” Trent said pointedly, glancing at Pete.

  
  


“Get fucked, Seven.” Pete growled in reply, tucking his hands back into his shallow pockets.

  
  


…

  
  


When Mick (then known as Mankind) and ‘Taker had fought to determine Mick’s right to roam free, the Deadman had put him through the absolute _ringer_ before finally granting him his freedom. He had probably figured Mick wouldn’t survive long enough to make it above ground.

  
  


Jeff had been so young, without a decent handle on the creature that had eaten his shadow. Willow wasn’t exactly enamored with the idea of  _ helping _ . So Jeff had done his best on his own, trying not to puke himself inside out at the sight of Mick’s injuries. He had been shaking all over, his hands clammy with sweat as he ran them up and down Mick’s destroyed legs. The purple trails from his touch were so faint he worried that he wasn’t even helping at all, but food had been tight lately and there wasn’t much for him to draw--

  
  


Mick had grabbed his arm suddenly enough to make Jeff scream and try to bolt, used and overused to getting punched or kicked ( _ or thrown _ ) if people caught hold of him. “ _ Easy kid, I’m not gonna’ hurt you _ .” Mick had gasped, his broken face twisted into a pained grin. “ _ You’re giving me a hand, right? _ ”  Jeff, young and scared, had nodded wordlessly. Mick chuckled, the noise a bare rasp of humor. “ _ Good to know I’ve got someone in my corner. _ ”

  
  


Jeff kept Mick hidden away as best as he could, sneaking off from Matt every day to bring the other man scraps of what he found for food through his daily foraging. When Mick could move again, he would rumple Jeff’s hair roughly in thanks. He took to calling Jeff ‘ _Pinky’_ , ostensibly because of the _purple_ marks that followed his hands (Jeff would swear up and down to Mick that his powers manifested in purple, _damn it_ , he just wasn’t getting much food and the marks showed up even lighter than usual if they had nothing to feed off of). 

  
  


Jeff’s powers were certainly a life saver for Mick’s body, but the man’s _brain_ was in tatters from the beating he’d taken and Jeff found out the hard way that his skill didn’t seem to have any neurological effect. Sometimes Mick didn’t remember who Jeff was or where he was or even _how_ he got there, his eyes distant and confused until Jeff patiently explained everything again. He had a few seizures, which Jeff could safely label as one of his least favorite things.

  
  


The day came when Mick stopped remembering. Oh he recalled the Deadman, of course. Anyone who had met him would be hard pressed to forget the Deadman. But he stopped remembering _everything_ that had transpired after their fight. He would wander, talk to himself, get into scuffles with shadows on the walls.

  
  


And then one night Jeff couldn’t find him at all. 

  
  


He searched high and low, every nook and cranny of the Underground that he knew of. After an unfortunate run-in with Edge, the fanged bastard spat in his face and announced with disdain that Mankind had _left_ the Underground. Christian had smirked at Jeff and Jeff knew that he was lucky to escape with the bruises. If Gangrel’s Brood was hungry, there wouldn’t have been anything left for Matt to identify him by. 

  
  


Matt stumbled across Jeff bawling his eyes out in a cramped little corner of one of the more frequented tunnels, his body banged up and his heart in pieces. Mick had just  _ left _ , without a word. 

  
  


“ _ You big baby _ .” Matt had sighed. Being older by three years, Matt was one of Jeff’s heroes as well as his brother. The other boy had clapped Jeff on the shoulder, trying to rouse him. “ _ C’mon, stop crying. _ ”

  
  


“ _ He’s gone _ .” Jeff wailed. “ _ Mick’s gone, Matt! _ ”

  
  


“ _Yeah, I know_.” Matt had shrugged. “ _You been sneaking off for ages. I got nervous,_ _ **don’t**_ _give me that look._ ” He scolded his younger brother, “ _Stop cryin’. Mankind wanted to be up there, right? Least you can do is be happy for him_.”

  
  


“ _ I…I know _ .” 

  
  


Matt had yanked him into his side and hugged him with one arm, then punched his shoulder. That was Matt in a nutshell, parent and brother and always a little uncertain of which role to play. Jeff _adored_ him.

  
  


But misfortune never seemed too far off for the brothers in the Underground. Wyatt had been a nothing, a nobody just like them. Fodder for the Deadman’s fighting, entertainment for a fleeting second. 

  
  


Until he wasn’t. 

  
  


Jeff couldn’t have pinpointed the exact time the shift happened. He spent most of his time in a haze of depressants, slugging a strong liquid breakfast just to try and get up in whatever could be considered the morning in a place where the sun didn’t touch. Matt had reached out to him so many times and Jeff tried, he really did. But the pain he shouldered from others wore him down to a sad little fragment of what he had once been.

  
  


Jeff was ashamed to admit that he didn’t know when Matt had gone missing. All he knew was that he woke up one day achingly sober and he realized that Matt wasn’t there. Matt wasn’t  _ anywhere _ .

  
  


Sheep masks had been hot and heavy in the tunnels as he searched, the low buzz of static from them setting Jeff’s teeth on edge. “ _ Matt! _ ”  He finally shouted his brother’s name, unsettled by the way every sheep turned to look at him. “ _ Matt, where are you? I’m sorry! _ ”

  
  


“ _ Jeff? _ ”  That was his brother’s voice! Jeff had whirled, a glad smile already on his face. It quickly dropped when he saw the person in a sheep mask behind him. They were far too short to be Matt, too slender. Jeff’s heart sank. “ _ Jeff, is that you? _ ”  Matt’s exhausted voice crackled from the mask.

  
  


“ _ M…Matt? _ ” 

  
  


“ _ Jeff, I don’t have a lot of time. Listen. You gotta’ get out of here, okay? It’s too late for me. Too late. You need to- _ ”  Matt’s message abruptly cut off, the person wearing the mask shivering all over.

  
  


“ _ Hello there, Jeff _ .” A different voice drawled from the mask. The shepard. 

  
  


_ Wyatt, you  _ _** snake ** _ _ . _

  
  


Jeff bolted before the slight individual could swipe at him, their fingers suddenly crooked like talons. The masks seemed to hover in the dark, pale blotches swarming out of the branching tunnels to give chase. 

  
  


Running in a blind panic, twisting and turning with no real direction, Jeff had wound up at a dead end. He beat his fists against the unforgiving brick, yelling in frustration and then whirling to face the horde advancing on him. He dug in his jeans frantically, his knife brushing his fingers. All he had besides that was his old lighter. Not sure what _that_ would do for him. Maybe there was a pocket of fumes in the dead end that he could use to blow everyone to kingdom come. 

  
  


_How the_ _ **hell**_ _did Kane do it?!_

  
  


The lighter sputtered, emitting a frail little  _ click _ . Nothing ignited. 

  
  


Jeff had flipped open his knife with an air of grim finality. It wasn’t a knife for fighting, the blade barely three inches long, but he was proficient enough to believe that he might take a few of them with him when he _did_ go.

  
  


_** Trying to kill us? ** _

  
  


Jeff froze. That voice! He had tried so hard to tell himself that he was imagining things, that trauma had warped his childhood recollections to the point of fantasy manifesting as reality. When he got older drugs and alcohol kept it quiet, kept it complacent. It was easier to dismiss if he didn’t have to think about it in the first place. But he was sober now.

  
  


_** Trapping us here like a rat. You leave us no alternative escape route. Your body has been good to us, no demands, let us rest. We will fight now? We will fight now. ** _

  
  


Black, blacker than the darkness that surrounded him. The sheep masks vanished, swallowed without a sound by the unnatural void.

  
  


_** The brother…he is not here. ** _

  
  


“ _ Matt! _ ”  Jeff cried anew. “ _ Please! _ ” 

  
  


_** You will bring more of them. Quiet. We cannot do this for very long. Your form limits us. ** _

  
  


Jeff had choked back his scream, silent tears trickling down his cheeks. The blackness that even his night vision couldn’t pierce slowly retreated, solidifying into a shape that was vaguely humanoid. 

  
  


_** He is a loss to you. You have been in the dark for a very long time. ** _

  
  


“ _ I’ll do anythin’,  _ _** anythin’ ** _ _ , please bring him back _ .” Jeff begged pitifully.

  
  


_**We cannot. The shepherd has him.**_ Jeff had felt a fleeting sensation of regret, white eyes blinking at him owlishly. The thing was sorry for him. _Pitied_ him. _**We cannot reach him.**_

  
  


“ _Then help me, for_ _ **fuck’s**_ _sake. If you’re gonna’ piggyback around in my body, you need to help me. Otherwise I’ll put us both outta’ our misery!_ ” Jeff threatened wildly. 

  
  


_** Presumptuous. You are the one who let us sleep away because you didn’t want to think about us. ** _

  
  


“ _ I know. And you’re the one who’s been spongin’ off my energy despite all that. So don’t give me lip _ .” Jeff snapped. “ _ If I’m lettin’ you out, it’s to help me get Matt back and that’s  _ _** it ** _ .”

  
  


… _ **Agreed.**_

  
  


...

  
  


The doorway across the street was at least _slightly_ sheltered from the elements. Jeff wrapped his arms around himself, shivering violently. This had been a terrible idea. He ought to leave, _now_ , before things got out of hand. He knew he wouldn't, though. He did this every year, despite attempting to talk himself out of it.

  
  


The light over the double doors of Mick’s soup kitchen flickered and sputtered in the snowstorm, casting a weak circle of light around the entrance. Mick poked his head out through the door, no doubt searching for stragglers. Jeff’s prayers that the old man wouldn’t see him went unanswered as Mick squinted at him through the snow.

  
  


“Hey! You! You want something to eat?” He yelled. Of _course_ he had seen Jeff, the other man wasn’t exactly _stealthy_ in his enormous black pants and ratty purple shirt. “Beef stew, tiny bit of veggie stew and fresh bread from the Brogue if you want it!” Mick opened the door a little wider. “C’mon!” He called, beckoning Jeff over.

  
  


Like a moth drawn to the light, Jeff hesitantly made his way across the street. He kept his eyes down, watching his battered boots make a trail through the snow. 

  
  


“The heck are you doing out in a storm like this?” Mick asked once he drew close enough for him to speak at a normal volume. “You aren’t dressed for it and you know it.” 

  
  


In rare instances, Jeff would swear he was carrying more than Willow. An echo of himself, younger and hot with emotions. He felt six inches tall when he looked at Mick, the older man still just as kind as ever. Mick moved stiffly, his body bearing the echoes of he and ‘Taker’s fight. Guilt flooded Jeff.  _ If I had been better at what I do- _

  
  


“Come in, come in.” Mick urged him and Jeff cautiously stepped over the threshold, blinking sore eyes in the bright lighting of the kitchen. “I was just about to close up shop but I had a feeling that there might be another latecomer or two. And here you are!” Instead of being inconvenienced by the fact that Jeff had made an appearance far later than he should have, Mick seemed delighted to have someone else here to eat his soup. “Sit down over there, son. I’ll get you a bowl. Bread too, yeah?”

  
  


Jeff nodded silently. He did this every _damn_ year, he ought to be used to it by now. Mick didn't remember him. He never did. Jeff chastised himself for not getting over it. 

  
  


He didn't expect another person to still be there. A form was huddled by the radiator, all bundled in blankets. Jeff offered them the common courtesy of silent dismissal, all too used to getting studied by rude passerby. A bowl landed in front of him, full to the chipped brim with a delicious-looking stew. A decent sized hunk of bread tested on top of it. Jeff hadn't realized how hungry he was until he actually saw the food. He was hard-pressed to remember when he had eaten last. 

  
  


“Dig in.” Mick encouraged him, that crooked grin sending Jeff _years_ back in time. Jeff nodded silently and began shoveling the food into his mouth.

  
  


He curled up safe and sound in the Underground hours later, his belly full and his heart still heavy. He knew the sun was rising above ground, that it was now officially Christmas Eve and the whole city would be ablaze with activity. Matt was somewhere out there in the midst of it all. He had to be.

  
  


_ I'll find you, Matt. I'll find you again _ .

  
  


...

  
  


The woman peered through the light snow coming down, her leathers weighing on her more than she wanted to admit. “Almost there.” Her hulking companion encouraged, as if he knew. “Lynch said it was a place called Empire. That’s our best bet.”

  
  


“I know.” She grumbled back, revving her bike. “At this point though, I’d probably accept a cardboard box for the night if it was warm and dry.”

  
  


The light turned and ended their conversation, the two motorcyclists riding abreast down one lane. Signs of the season were everywhere, though they looked somewhat dingy and worn; bulbs flickered a little more than they should and paper cutouts were yellowed with age.

  
  


The Empire club was apparently a busy place, judging from the lines of parked cars on either side of the road. Undeterred, her companion drove his bike onto the sidewalk, gesturing for her to follow once he dismounted. “What kinda’ cop tickets on Christmas Eve?” He pointed out when she hesitated. “C’mon. For all we know, he ain’t here and we’ll have to get going again.”

  
  


She groaned at the thought and did as she was told. The man at the door carded them with an air of boredom that was almost insolent, telling them to “ _ enjoy the Holiday Revue _ ”  in a monotone. 

  
  


They entered the club and she immediately pushed off her hood, inhaling deeply. The air in the small foyer or coatroom was tangy with pine and spice, and the dimly lit interior of the club beckoned the two of them on. 

  
  


Circular tables full of patrons dotted the floor, the candle on each one no doubt contributing to the scents in the air. Up on the stage, bathed with blue light, a man wearing a light-up scarf and little else crooned through the chorus of  _ Blue Christmas _ . He didn’t seem to mind in the least that the buzzing conversation from the floor half-drowned him out. Another man with chin length brown hair leaned on the edge of the stage, his face propped up in his hands as he appeared to pay rapt attention to the song.

  
  


The woman's eyes wandered the area, picking through groups of strange-looking people and searching for the man that they had come all this way to find. _Where are you?_ She wondered.

  
  


“Might be a dead end.” Her companion muttered, eyeing the buffet tables at the far end of the room. “For him, anyway.”

  
  


But then the man they had been hunting emerged from an office beside the buffet tables. Her eyes widened because he was  _ laughing _ . 

  
  


In all her time as a prospect, she had seen him laugh maybe once, and briefly at that. She watched dumbfounded as he tried to sneak a meatball out from underneath the nose of the older man who was doling them out, getting a whack on his knuckles for his trouble. The older man (who was dressed as Santa Claus, complete with a fake beard over his very real one) wagged a scolding finger and the man they had come here for laughed again, sauntering back around the table to mingle in the crowd. 

  
  


…

  
  


“ _ Baron! _ ”  Baron heard the shout of his name seconds before he suffered an old school tackle to the kidneys. His mind whirled, memories surging forward while he grunted under the assault. 

  
  


“Lone!” A huge hand clapped down on his shoulder and turned him around with ease. Baron found himself face to face with the beaming, cold-reddened visage of one Braun Strowman. Which meant that the tackle was indeed from who he suspected. 

  
  


Baron’s heart sank as Ember Moon squealed and wriggled, hugging him tightly from behind. “I _knew_ it was you! Merry Holidays Baron!” She high-fived Braun over Baron’s shoulder. “We did it!”

  
  


“We wanted to surprise you.” Braun explained.

  
  


“ Well, consider me surprised.” Baron said dryly.  _ And horrified, uncomfortable, scared… _

  
  


“You left so sudden back in July, we were all confused. Higher ups didn’t wanna’ look into it so I uh, I took the hang around--whups, not a prospect anymore, sorry Ember--and we set out on your trail. I’m sure I’ll have a lickin’ waiting for me when I get back, but eh. Fuck it.” Braun shrugged. “We got a tip from Lynch when we stopped in for repairs. She said you’d been there a few times.”

  
  


_ Me and my big mouth _ .

  
  


“You were a sad sack for _months_ before you left, we were super worried!” Ember scolded, giving his shoulder a light punch. “You could have at least written! Returned a text or something! I mean it was bad enough when you left the first time and we didn’t hear from you, and when you came back, you were a total mess. Then you left _again_!”

  
  


“My phone got busted. Didn’t have anyone’s numbers. You know I can’t remember shit like that.” Baron said shortly. 

  
  


“Alright, who is she?” Ember asked, startling him into silence with her abrupt question. He almost roared _prospect_ _!_ before recalling that Braun had corrected himself and she had no prospect patch. So she was patched-in, at the very least. Baron honestly hadn't expected the leader of the Pack to take her application seriously and _now_ look at her. Maybe things had changed in his absence. _Because_ of his absence, even.

  
  


She put her hands on her hips, tapping one booted foot as Baron scrambled to figure something out.  “ What?”  _ Smooth Baron! _

  
  


“ We wanna’ know who she is. Whatever chick has you this fucked up can’t be any ordinary gal. C’mon Lone, spill it!” Braun ordered, his easy grin still in place. They were  _ serious _ .

  
  


Baron’s mind frantically cast around, trying to think up a suitable tale to tell. He had left the MC because their president wasn’t what he would consider… _ open-minded _ , and hearing him rant on various topics that were near and dear to Corbin’s sexuality hadn’t exactly done much to ensure his continuation in the club. If anything, he had been terrified about letting the truth slip and catching a shovel to the back of the head at the end of a heated church meeting.

  
  


His eyes landed on Mite moving past them with an empty tray, making a beeline for the small kitchen.  “ I’ll be right back.” Baron said hurriedly to his friends. “Uh, I mean, sit down. Have some food, there’s a great show on tonight.” He amended awkwardly. “I’ll be back in a second.” With that, he bolted off after Mite.

  
  


“Corbin, s’wrong? Y’ look like ye’ve seen a ghost.” Sheamus commented after Baron careened into the tiny kitchen.

  
  


“Mite, will you fuckin’…would you uh, fake being my girlfriend for a couple minutes?” Baron rushed the words out, cringing inside the whole time. The diminutive individual squinted up at him, as if to ask whether he was joking. “Look, I’m in a real bind here. There’s two members of my old MC that just showed up out of the blue, they’re askin’ who it was that got me to leave the club in the first place. My club prez wasn’t very tolerant of…people…people like me.” Baron heaved in a breath, suddenly light-headed. “I don’t want them to hurt Roman, okay?”

  
  


Mite pursed their lips, looking over at Sheamus. “Does Roman know?” Sheamus asked quietly.

  
  


“No. Not yet.” 

  
  


“This is a fuckin’ slippy one, Baron. I dinnae’ want Reigns thinkin’ that you’re gettin’ some side plaything. You’d better explain it t’ him free an’ clear the second y’ can.” Sheamus warned, returning to his work of slicing up oranges for Sami’s garnishes. 

  
  


Mite still looked unsure, and Baron wrung his hands. “It’s just lip service, I promise. I mean, you’re female-presenting-”

  
  


Mite stopped him by tilting their head and making a seesaw gesture with their hand. Sheamus snorted.

  
  


“ - _ sometimes _ .” Baron stressed the word. “You’ve got a skirt tonight, that’ll be enough for them. I dunno’ how long they’re planning on staying, I will do anything.”

  
  


“Anything?” 

  
  


“ _ Anything _ .”

  
  


…

  
  


“Damn, he’s worked up.” Braun commented while Baron practically ran for a door next to the office.

  
  


“Yeah. This girl really must be something.” Ember mused.

  
  


A well-built man with long black hair and warm brown eyes made his way over to Ember and Braun, stopping to introduce himself. Clearly, they stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the admittedly-mixed crowd. “The name’s Roman Reigns. I own the Empire. I haven’t seen you two in town before.” He gestured at the bar. “Drinks with Sami are in that direction, and Mick is still hard at work dishing his spaghetti. Someone I can help you find?” Roman asked, raising an eyebrow. 

  
  


Ember realized with a rush of embarrassment that she and Braun were still dripping snow all over the floor. “I'm Ember, and this is my friend Braun. We uh, we came for Baron.” She mumbled, somewhat tongue-tied in the face of this handsome stranger.

  
  


Roman’s eyes lit up. “Oh! You’re friends of Baron’s, of course. I should have known from the leathers and patches. Take off your coats, grab something to eat. I’m not sure where he’s--"

  
  


“I’m back.” Baron reappeared sounding strangely hoarse, his eyes darting between Roman and the other two. “This is them.” He said lamely.

  
  


Ember almost hadn’t seen the girl he was talking about, her small frame hidden behind Baron’s larger one. _Size kink much, Corbin?_ She stifled the thought. “Hey there! I’m Ember, and the big guy is Braun. We just _had_ to meet the girl that had Lone all fucked up.” She said warmly, extending a hand. The young woman shook it after a moment of hesitation, offering up a shy smile. _She’s_ _ **adorable**_. Ember resisted the urge to squeal aloud. 

  
  


“Yeah, we’ve uh, it’s been almost a year, right Mite?” Baron said. She nodded in reply, tucking into his side and fidgeting with her skirt. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it. Don’t let Shea work you too hard, okay?” Mite nodded again, giving Braun and Ember a little wave before melting back into the crowd.

  
  


“ She’s kinda’  _ small _ , Baron.” Braun began, a note of disapproval in his tone.

  
  


“ She’s  _ precious _ , you shut up!” Ember hissed at Braun. “Oh my God, Baron, she’s so fucking  _ cute _ .” Roman was strangely silent through the whole exchange. Did he not like Mite? He seemed to like Baron well enough. “I want to squeeze her.”

  
  


“They actually identify as non-binary.” Baron mumbled. “So not…a she?” 

  
  


Ember nodded slowly, giving Braun a nudge in the ribs as if to say _told-you-so_. “Gotcha’. I have a cousin like that. My aunt keeps saying they’ll grow out of it, even though they’re already like, thirty. So dumb, right?” 

  
  


“The dumbest.” Baron agreed, looking relieved. Was _that_ what he had been all worried about? Ember wanted to box his ears. Sure, Braun had been in the Pack a little longer than her but he was hardly an asshole about things like that. Not like their president.

  
  


“Can you guys excuse us for just a few minutes? I have some things I need to go over with Corbin.” Roman’s face was oddly blank and Ember noticed that Baron looked nervous. “It’s Christmas Eve and I'm sure you two have had a long ride, so please make yourselves at home.”

  
  


“ Don’t mind if I do!” Braun answered cheerily, making a beeline for the man named Mick. Ember turned to watch him go, sighing softly. She had hoped that Braun invited her along on his little mission to maybe grow closer to her, or at the very least let her down easy. But instead, it had been all about ‘ _ proving she wasn't a prospect anymore _ ’ . Noble, but a little disheartening.

  
  


She straightened up again after a minute, schooling her posture into that no-nonsense set of shoulders that she had learned through years of observation. She was still a patched-in member of the Pack. It didn't matter whether her mentor noticed her. 

  
  


…

  
  


“Roman, let me explain-”

  
  


“Am I _inconveniencing_ you, Baron?” The miserable weather outside was warmer than Roman’s tone. The large man sat at his desk, his hands folded demurely on the scarred surface, and just _looked_ at Corbin.

  
  


Baron hated, _hated_ with a passion when Roman would do this, when he would put on his game face and act unfazed, unbothered. Because Baron knew for a fact that it meant he was screaming on the inside. Reigns was _hurt_ , confused and still so fragile. Baron could practically feel his distress simmering in his bones. But Roman never seemed to think he could afford the luxury of a breakdown. 

  
  


“ Please let me explain?” He asked,  _ begged _ , focusing his attention on Roman’s hands. “Please.”

  
  


“I have worked incredibly hard in my life, Baron.” Roman said calmly. “Incredibly hard. You know as well as I do that--”

  
  


“Will you knock it off?” Baron interrupted, taking hold of Roman’s hand. “Stop it already.”

  
  


Roman stared down at the fingers wrapped around his own. “You told me you would get better at this.” Roman pointed out faintly. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.” 

  
  


“Jesus _Christ_ Reigns, I’m trying not to. I don’t know how they would react if they knew I was gay. I don’t know whether they would try to hurt you. I left the club for a reason.” Baron said unhappily. “I’d like to think that nothing would happen. I’d like to hope for the best. But it’s an _unknown_ and I don’t want you to get fuckin’ battered again. You’re all I’ve got now. I can’t lose you.”

  
  


“Mite-”

  
  


Baron grabbed Roman's jaw and kissed him hard enough to bruise. Roman gasped into his mouth, obviously startled. “I came back for _you_ , Roman. I sleep next to _you_ every night, even if I have to drag you away from all this fucking paperwork kicking and screaming. I want to take care of _you_.” Baron sucked in a deep breath. “I...I love you.”

  
  


“I know you do.” Roman sounded defeated. No ‘ _I love you too_ ’. Even though Baron knew he deserved it, it still hurt. He wasn't very comfortable with saying... _that_ yet and Roman not returning the gesture just made him feel a thousand times more awkward. “Just for tonight, right?” Roman asked softly.

  
  


“ I don't know when they're planning on leaving. Braun was never really big on... _ itineraries _ .” Baron admitted. “I don't want to send them back suspicious. If they go to the Pack and start shit-slinging, that could be it. I have to be careful here.”

  
  


…

  
  


The black cat sauntered up the metal stairs, wholly unaffected by the elements. The human he was paying a visit to, not so much. 

  
  


Seth grumbled another complaint about the cold and let the cat climb into his lap. “I can’t believe your nerve. Late, on  _ Christmas Eve _ .” The cat mewled and rubbed its head against the underside of Seth's jaw. “Don't you give me that flak! You know we promised Mick we would keep the neighborhood safe and where were  _ you _ , hmm? Sulking that you couldn't go to Empire?” The young man huffed, burying his nose in the cat's fur.

  
  


The cat chose to ignore him in favor of climbing up onto Seth's shoulder and draping himself around the man's neck, purring loudly. 

  
  


“You're like a little space heater. Demon freak.” The cat could feel Seth smiling. The man got to his feet and pulled his hood up, securing the cat where he was. “Family's been hard on the prowl. I think Roman pissed Wyatt off.” He murmured. “Sayin’ that the Acolytes were welcome was a bold move. I know the Deadman appreciates it and shit but...well, we'll keep our eyes peeled, right? Saw Empress earlier too. Not sure what's up with that.”

  
  


The cat continued to purr while Seth watched the entrance of the Empire from the rooftop, silently observing Officers Breeze and Fandango. They seemed to be bickering over whether to ticket two illegally-parked motorcycles. 

  
  


“Couple of damn clowns.” Seth almost leaped out of his skin at the raspy voice, whirling to confront Dean. “Cute cat. Thought you were more of a dog guy?”

  
  


“He came with the territory. Shouldn't you be, uh…” Seth trailed off, gesturing down at the Empire.

  
  


“Wanted some fresh air. Place gets heated. Plus, Baron's got Roman wound over somethin’ and it's makin’ it hard to breathe.” Dean sat down on the edge of the fire escape, heedless of the snow. “You runnin’ interference this year?”

  
  


“Yeah. Wasn't sure if Hunter and Steph would turn up. Figured it was for the best that I keep away.” Seth relaxed against the metal railing. “Don’t want to cause more trouble for Ro.” 

  
  


“Always and forever.” Dean chuckled ruefully. “How’s things between you an’ yours? Everythin’ okay? Demon bastard treatin’ you right?”

  
  


Seth scratched the black feline under his chin, smiling again. “We're doing pretty good, I'd say. We'll have presents later on tonight, maybe tomorrow night if this gig runs late. Not about to leave you guys with no vanguard and shit. Who's performing tonight? I never got to see the card.” 

  
  


“ Ah, Jericho's doin’ that crooning thing and AJ is  _ eating it up _ , it’s hysterical. Regal's pluguglies are on ground patrol though, so no routines from ‘em this year. Regal is actually with ‘em. He says he's got a ‘ _ bad feeling _ ’ .” Dean shrugged. “Deadman has come. The Acolytes are behavin’. Everythin’ seems quiet. Maybe for once, we won't have trouble.”

  
  


No sooner had the words left his mouth than an explosion rocked the street. The abandoned storefront across from the Empire blew out in a hail of bricks and glass. 

  
  


“Well shit.” Dean muttered, the two men watching as Family members poured from the building. 

  
  


“It’s about feckin’ time.” The cat's weight was gone, replaced by the drape of a familiar arm clad in a worn leather jacket. 

  
  


Seth nodded at Bálor's words, turning his attention back to Dean. “Ambrose?”

  
  


The hulking form of the Beast emerged down below, announcing his presence with that strange, high-pitched roar. 

  
  


Ambrose's grin was savage. “I think Beasty is overdue for some payback.”

  
  


…

  
  


The explosion was barely audible over the music inside the Empire, but Roman was immediately on high alert. “What was that?” He asked warily.

  
  


“Firecrackers, maybe?” Baron suggested.

  
  


“ Sounded a little too... _ loud _ .” Roman rose from the desk. “C'mon. I know we have Seth and Bálor on rooftop watch, but it can't hurt to check.” He reasoned. 

  
  


Before either of them could leave however, the door to the office was flung wide open. Regal looked  _ livid _ . “I've had just about enough of the Underground and its scum.” He announced sharply, “We've got a flock of sheep, Reigns. With the Beast. My boys and yours are holding them at bay currently, but we need reinforcements quick.”

  
  


_ The Beast _ . Roman was relatively certain he lost all the color in his face, his mind transporting him back,  _ back _ \--Baron grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. “I'll tell Jericho.” Roman managed to get out, his voice shaking. “Have him make an announcement. Then, we're out there. Two minutes.” 

  
  


“You've got thirty seconds.” William replied curtly. “Whatever it is man, put it aside.” Then, he was off.

  
  


“I'll tell Jericho-” Roman gripped Baron's hand even tighter, feeling the panic threatening to overtake him. His throat closed up. He didn't have _time_ for this, there was no _time_ -

  
  


“Hey.” Baron murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “You've got me here, okay? I won't let anything happen to you. I swear it.” 

  
  


“A...Alright.” Roman said brokenly, releasing Baron. “Tell Jericho. I'll get to Shea and Mite. Ambrose is out there.”

  
  


…

  
  


Ember watched in confusion as Baron touched his forehead to Roman's and said something, holding his hands the entire time. It was a strangely intimate gesture and suspicion nudged at the back of her mind. Beside her, Braun  _ hmm _ 'ed thoughtfully.

  
  


“ Ladies, gentlemen, less than distinguished creatures of the night, your attention please!” The man onstage said abruptly. “A situation is unfolding outside. Anyone who doesn't wanna’ be involved in the proceeding brouhaha, please stick with Mick! Anyone who  _ does _ , however…” He paused, a fiendish grin spreading across his handsome features. “Break the walls down.”

  
  


Ember had never seen a room go to chaos so quickly, people bolting to their feet and either heading for the door or retreating back. Mick had already tipped one banquet table onto its side to create makeshift cover, and more down the line followed suit. 

  
  


“We fightin’?” Braun was asking _her_ for some reason.

  
  


“ If Lone is,  _ obviously _ .” Ember grinned. “Been a while since we threw down.” 

  
  


“There he goes out the door now, we'd better catch up.” Braun cracked his knuckles. “Can’t let him have all the fun.”

  
  


...

  
  


If inside had been chaos, then outside was pure pandemonium. The Family had finally staged a full-scale assault, dozens and dozens of them emerging from the Underground to wage war. The Beast lumbered around them all, shrieking angrily. 

  
  


Sheamus weaved and dodged through the crowd, Mite hot on his heels as he searched for Ambrose. “Dean!” He shouted, scooping Mite up onto his shoulders so they could better survey the area. Nakamura whipped by them, a brutal knee slamming into the jaw of the Beast before he quickly danced back out of reach.

  
  


_ Smart, don't let him catch you _ . Sheamus thought in approval, skirting the edge of their fight. Mite clung to his Mohawk as he turned this way and that to avoid sheep and Acolytes alike. Just because they were on their side for the night didn't mean he trusted them not to take an easy cheap shot.

  
  


Dean was suddenly at his elbow, bleeding from a cut over his eye and grinning that unhinged grin. “Shea! Mite! Come to join the party, huh?” 

  
  


“ _ Ambrose _ .” Sheamus exhaled in relief. “Yer alrigh’.” 

  
  


“Ain't the first time we've dug in with these shitheads.” Dean brushed him off, laughing when Sheamus kissed his cheek. “You're such a worrywart, boss.” Mite gave him a solid rap on the head in retaliation.

  
  


“ _ Ask him! _ ”  Came the distinctive voice of Chris Jericho. He had his arm locked around a sheep's neck, dragging at the person's mask while they struggled wildly. “Ask him what he thought he would accomplish, and then  _ tell him he's a stupid idiot! _ ”

  
  


…

  
  


The Deadman waded into the fracas, the crowd parting around him. Another beast that he had made and abandoned, now repurposed by Wyatt and returning to cause trouble. The sense of deja vu was outright  _ obnoxious _ . 

  
  


There was a presence at his right. It felt strange; brilliant without light, darker than darkness itself. He glanced over, curious, and met the molten eyes of the man who harbored the shadow. Jeff tilted his chin up, staring defiantly back at the Deadman. Void bled from his body freely, and something else spoke without words. 

  
  


_** We will find the brother ** _ **. **

  
  


To his left, the sudden displacement of air announced the arrival of the Demon Princeling. Blue eyes ablaze in the dark, the young vessel cocked his head to the side as if to study the Beast and then straightened the lapels of his coat with an insolent  _ snap! _

  
  


The Empress sauntered up, standing between Bálor and ‘Taker devoid of her opulent robes. Her mask was still firmly in place. Reigns the coward, Rollins the traitor and Ambrose the lunatic flanked Jeff, a rearguard shield. Behind them towered that new blood Baron and a man and woman that ‘Taker didn't recognize, both clad in motorcycle leathers and sporting identical looks of giddy excitement. 

  
  


It was amusing that they rallied alongside the Deadman, as though they assumed that _he_ needed _them_. Far from it. Better that they busy themselves with the Family, the _insects_ that dogged his Acolytes’ heels. “This one is mine.” The Undertaker said solemnly. “Manage the vermin.” His tone brooked no argument. Thunder rumbled overhead. 

  
  


The Empress, Jeff and Bálor were the only ones who disobeyed him, the rest of the ‘normal’ people peeling off to re-engage in the heated fray. 

  
  


_ Interesting _ . 

  
  


He turned to face the three, his eyes alight with growing power, and found himself being studied intently. It was almost  _ unnerving _ . “Well?” He asked calmly, feeling the lightning crackle through his bloodstream. 

  
  


The Empress tossed her head, _laughing_ at his display. She had always been a sidelines player in the Underground, but it would seem that there was much more to her than met the eye. Bálor was more respectful in his defiance, simply squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms over his chest. Those brilliant blue eyes bored into ‘Takers.

  
  


Jeff cleared his throat and raised his hands. Purple lines wove through the air, neon aftertrails burning in the darkness of the snowy street. The void followed his motions, leaving a thick shadow behind every purple line. It was a double-layered sigil, the Deadman would bet his hat on it. One side to protect, and one side to do as the void wished. “Ready?” Jeff asked, and the Undertaker was entertained by the fact that the man wasn't speaking to him.

  
  


The Empress raised her own hands to her mask and nodded.

  
  


The Beast roared deafeningly loud.

  
  


“On three.”

  
  


…

  
  


“Merry fuckin’ Christmas to _me_ , I say!” Trent bellowed, striking down the Family left and right. Strength might be in numbers, but quantity _certainly_ didn't equal quality here. Trent was easily shattering bones and Tyler at his back was much the same, furiously cheery and ready to kill.

  
  


Pete seemed inconvenienced above all else, the mob breaking on his solid form while he boredly shoved and pushed the Family members out of his personal space. “It’s too damn loud here.” He grimaced. “Tyla’, clear us a path, yeah?”

  
  


Tyler nodded, slamming a boot down to plant himself and rotating his whole body into his next attack. A familiar face cropped up at Trent’s side and the man laughed, throwing an arm around Matt’s shoulders. “Welcome to the party, Streak! Find your brother yet?”

  
  


“ He’s--” Matt waved a hand vaguely. “Around, I think.” He then proceeded to cup his hands around his mouth and yell, “ _ Jeff! Where are you? _ ”

  
  


…

  
  


It really wasn’t fair that he was having auditory hallucinations (and not even the regular ones!) at a time like this, a time that Jeff needed his full concentration to keep his mind from unraveling. This was a _lot_ of potential backlash he was dealing with. He was master of his own abilities, sure, but mixing things up with Willow while also acting as a filter for the Empress’ destructive powers involved more than a _bit_ of mental juggling. Now was not the time to be imagining that Matt was nearby.

  
  


_ I’ve done dumber _ .

  
  


Jeff gritted his teeth. 

  
  


Beside him, the Empress straightened and moved to slide her mask up. Her face was one of petrifying beauty, a modern-day Medusa. Jeff would have sworn that even ‘Taker froze briefly. 

  
  


The Beast recoiled from her terrible gaze, blinded and slowed and even _more_ furious now. Bálor sprang into action, blinking in and out of space as he rained a distracting attack down on the massive man’s head. Jeff’s arms were starting to ache with the effort of holding his protection steady so that the others weren’t incapacitated by the Empress and he jerked his chin at the Undertaker. “Now! Nail the bastard, ‘Taker!” 

  
  


If someone had tried to tell Jeff twenty minutes ago that he would be fighting at the Deadman’s side today, he would have laughed in their face. As it was, he felt giggles bubble nervously in his chest when the hairs on the back on his neck stood on end from the older man’s charged proximity. The Undertaker’s eyes were almost as luminous as Bálor’s, tiny bolts of lightning crackling over his arms and down to his hands.

  
  


_If he ain't a sight._ The Deadman was myth realized, unreality drenched in the cold glow of blue-white lightning. Thunder boomed a death knell, sounding much more than too close for comfort.

  
  


...

  
  


“Be still.” The Undertaker had never been a particularly _loud_ individual. His voice always carried, regardless of volume or proximity. He narrowed his eyes up at the Beast. “ _Be still_.” Lightning crackled and popped in the air.

  
  


The Beast abruptly caught Bálor in one huge hand, making the demon cry out. Too many teach gleamed in the demon's mouth and he tore at the hand gripping him. “Light ‘im up!” Bálor choked, sawing at the Beast's fingers. “Do it ‘Taker, do it! Jeff an’ Willa’ can fix me, jus’  _ do it! _ ”

  
  


“ _Finn!_ ” That was Rollins’ voice, cracking like he was about to cry. Seth soared through the air _over_ the Undertaker's head, the sole of his boot connecting with the Beast's jaw and snapping his head to the side. 

  
  


“Rollins-” Bálor gasped, “-feckin’ idiot, y'are--” 

  
  


“I'm _not_ losing you again!” Seth interrupted him with a heated yell, slapping their hands together and wrenching Bálor free of the mangled digits. The two men tumbled to the ground in a heap, Seth quickly rolling on top of the demon to shield him.

  
  


“‘ _ Taker! _ ”  Jeff sounded strained, urgency giving his voice an unfamiliar edge. “While I'm still standin’, man! Do it!”

  
  


“Rollins get the _fuck_ up!” Ambrose heaved Rollins _and_ Bálor to their feet, dragging them back out of the clearly marked ‘ _kill zone_ ’.

  
  


...

  
  


Roman threw himself into combat, thankful beyond measure that he hadn't needed to go toe-to-toe with the Beast again. Baron was ever at his side, tearing masks off left and right while yelling instructions to his two friends. Braun and Ember seemed entirely at home swinging for the fences in this all-out street brawl, the two of them tag-teaming through the crowd. 

  
  


Tyler and Trent steamrolled by with Regal and Pete in tow, Tyler giving Reigns a broad smile and wave as they passed.  _ As long as someone's enjoying themselves… _

  
  


Baron slammed a sheep to the ground and _ripped_ the flimsy mask off their face, gripping it tightly in his clenched fist. “I've had just about enough of your _shit_ , Wyatt!” The larger man shouted into the mask, his eyes nearly pitch-black with fury. “You piece of _trash!_ ” He flung the plastic away and got to his feet, his breathing uneven.

  
  


“Keep it together, Lone!” Ember yelled, laughing even as she said it. Behind her loomed the figure of a massive Family member, arms raised high with a knife poised to strike.

  
  


“ _Ember!_ ” Braun was suddenly _there_ between her and the other man, grappling with him in a fierce bid to protect Ember. “Get away from her, you _freak!_ ” Braun snarled, grimacing as the man bore down on him. The knife was still in the sheep's hand and Roman felt his breath seize when it grazed Braun's cheek. Baron was distracted, swinging away at the hordes threatening to overwhelm them, he was no help. Roman willed his feet to move, his arms, _anything, stop doing_ _ **nothing**_ _damn it-!_

  
  


“Braun!” Ember cried, slipping between Braun and the other man and bracing herself to give the sheep a violent shove. The Family member went sprawling onto his back and Braun staggered, his eyes wide in confusion. Ember tipped her head back and unleashed a roar to the sky, then lunged bodily on top of the sheep. “You don't _touch_ him!” She raged, pummeling the man's face. “You don't _get_ to touch him!”

  
  


The sheep lashed out with that jagged blade and Ember barely avoided getting her face sliced open, catching the knife with her shoulder instead. She grunted in pain, ignoring the wound in favor of shoving the man's chin up with the heel of her palm.

  
  


Roman saw his opening. _**Now**_ _, you damn coward!_ He bolted forward, raised his leg high and _stomped_ on the sheep's windpipe with all the strength and weight he had at his disposal. A snarl seared through his chest, so deep and angry it felt like the ground was rumbling. Or was that thunder-?

  
  


With a strong reek of ozone lightning split the sky, illuminating every snowflake in startling two-dimensional clarity. The thunder that followed threatened to deafen and Roman could feel the primal fear of _too close too close!_ set in like a freezing hand on the back of his neck. Baron crushed him to his chest, forcing Roman to bury his face in his shirt and quickly wrapping the flaps of his vest over Roman's head. 

  
  


“It's alright!” Baron said loudly. “It’s for the big fucker, we're safe!”

  
  


The lightning kept coming, bright enough that Roman could see it though his tightly-closed eyes. Thunder tumbled over itself in an effort to keep up with the onslaught, dissolving into rolling waves of sound that he could feel in his chest. Roman clung to Baron with every ounce of strength that he had, his whole body shaking.

  
  


“I'm sorry!” He yelled over the thunder, not sure if Baron could even hear him. “I'm sorry, Baron!”

  
  


Baron's grip on him tightened.

  
  


…

  
  


“I've got you!” Ember could barely hear Braun over the cacophony of thunder, the large man crouching beside her and pulling her into his side away from the motionless sheep. “Are you alright?!” He was essentially shouting in her face, his hands cupping her cheeks while he gave her a visual once-over. 

  
  


Ember forgot about the pain in her shoulder, forgot about the crowd all around her. All she could focus on was how close he was, how terrified he looked. She had never seen him look so much as  _ scared _ , and yet here he was seeming ready to fly off the handle.

  
  


She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his own. “I'm okay, Braun!” She tried for a smile. “I'm okay.”

  
  


Braun shook his head and closed his eyes, clearly distraught. She saw his lips move as he muttered, “ _ damn it all _ .” Then without warning she was being kissed fiercely. Braun's beard was more prickly than she had imagined it would be, but in a daze she reasoned that the cold had probably made it stiffen. Ember surrendered to the kiss without further facial hair rumination, luxuriating in the affection that she had craved for so long. 

  
  


Braun finally drew back, his eyes lazy and half-lidded. “Are you alright?” He asked again.

  
  


“Y-Yeah.” Ember stammered. 

  
  


…

  
  


“ _ Be still _ .” 

  
  


The Undertaker’s hand remained extended out towards the Beast, lightning tripping and snapping around his fingers. The Beast finally wailed out in pain, the miserable animal noise transporting ‘Taker back in time to when he had done this to his half-brother…

  
  


Dragged him back from the brink with his cursed ability, and then kept going because _Ugliness is honest, Kane_. He had been drunk on power, giddy that his lightning followed command even underground. There was no limit to his reach. He could bring people _back_ from the _dead_. He could rebuild destroyed bodies, rehouse the brain, reconnect the nerves and all it would take was the humanity of the subject. 

  
  


Kane paid dearly for trying to destroy himself.

  
  


‘ Taker shook off the memory in irritation, continuing to call lightning on his target. The Beast hadn't been nearly as much of a success as Kane, the huge man barely able to perform the simplest tasks even when given ample instruction. Wyatt had given him purpose with his indoctrination.  _ Dangerous _ . How many more failures lurked in Wyatt's ranks?

  
  


Better to try and incapacitate him for study.

  
  


...

  
  


“Jeff!” 

  
  


The younger Hardy jerked at the sound of the voice, having fallen into a half-daze as he tried to simply maintain his protective shielding. “Mask back on, I can't do this for much longer!” He warned the Empress, who nodded and donned her mask. The Beast struggled back to his feet once her gaze was contained, accepting bolt after bolt of lightning with terrifying bellows and squeals of pain.

  
  


“Jeff, where are you?!” 

  
  


_ It really isn't fair that I'm hearing his voice on top of everything else _ , Jeff thought with a bone-deep sigh.

  
  


_**We fight now?**_ Willow seemed unsure, shying away from the cold blue lightning.

  
  


“ We fight now.” Jeff snapped in reply, dismissing his sigil with a flick of his wrist. The power exploded outwards, void digging into the Beast's pink leathery skin like a blade. “We fight  _ now _ .”

  
  


Fingers grabbed his elbow and Jeff staggered, glaring backwards with Willow's white eyes at whoever might _dare_ to--

  
  


_ Matt _ .

  
  


His big brother had a death grip on his arm, jaw slightly slack as he stared at Jeff. Jeff stared back, bewildered, taking in the older man’s gaunt look and the trauma streak in his hair. “Jeff, I…” Matt began, his voice barely audible. 

  
  


A massive hand wrapped around Jeff's waist and he was torn away from his brother.

  
  


“ No,  _ Matt! _ ”  Jeff screamed, his voice cracking. Willow writhed inside his body, seeking an exit from the next bolt of lightning that seared through them. The pain was all-consuming, Willow shrieking a hysterical cackle of laughter that Jeff had never heard before. Bright light flashed in front of his eyes, blinding Jeff momentarily.

  
  


_** We will not die here with you ** _ . 

  
  


Void poured from his body in a torrent, a jugular tear of power that drenched the Beast's fist in nothingness. The next arc of current didn't reach them, swallowed by the black. Jeff struggled to catch his breath, unsure of which bright light he had seen and not too keen on seeing it again.

  
  


_** This will die before we do ** _ .

  
  


“Jeff!” Matt cried, Regal all but strong-arming him back from the Beast. 

  
  


…

  
  


“Can you grab him?” Seth asked frantically.

  
  


Bálor shook his head, certain the regret was plain on his face. “I'd take both of ‘em. I'm not strong enough f’ that.” He gripped his ribs, taking an experimental deep breath. 

  
  


“ There has to be something we can-” Seth was abruptly talking to himself, Bálor gone. “‘Taker hold-- _ hold the lightning! _ ”  Finn dimly heard Seth shout.

  
  


_Just like before. Only this time, avoid getting grabbed._ Bálor flashed into existence next to the Beast's head, giving the huge man a punch directly to one cauliflower ear. The Beast shrieked but Finn was already gone, laughter hanging in the air behind him. He reappeared twenty feet higher and dropped like a missile, knees bent for the stiff landing on the back of the Beast's neck.

  
  


The huge man stumbled yet didn't fall. Bálor was losing his patience with this whole affair, knowing that Jeff was struggling desperately against the crushing hold the Beast had on his midsection. 

  
  


“ _Drop_ ‘im, ye massive bastard!” Bálor demanded, an axe kick hammering directly into the top of the huge head. “Before I get _angry!_ ” The Beast's other hand swiped for him and Bálor was ready for it, darting away and then reappearing to wag his finger up at the monster. “Nice try, _prick!_ Have t’ do better n’ tha’!” Finn held both his hands up. “Maybe if y’ had two free hands, ye’d have an easier time of it!”

  
  


The Beast’s tiny, piggish eyes somehow grew even smaller, the enormous man clearly thinking much harder than normal. 

  
  


Jeff hit the ground with a sickening _thud_ , a broken toy discarded by an over-large child. Bálor skidded through the snow, scooping him up and fleeing into the in-between as the Beast swiped at him with both paws. He reappeared next to Rollins, Jeff’s legs dragging on the ground. “Stop tryin’ t’ _salvage_ the big fucker, ‘Taker! _Kill him!_ ” Bálor shouted at the back of the black-clad figure. “He’s nae good if he willna’ _obey!_ ” 

  
  


The Undertaker sighed, seeming put-out. The Beast advanced on the older man, roaring and reaching out to grab him. ‘Taker raised his arm again, a single finger outstretched this time. 

  
  


His lightning only struck once. 

  
  


The Beast crashed to the ground, steam rising from his scorched shoulders.

  
  


“Feck’s sake.” Finn groaned, glad that it was over.

  
  


…

  
  


“A new coat?” Pete was legitimately grateful. Regal coughed. “It is, Christ, got tags an’ all.” He swirled it around his shoulders, running a reverent hand over one of the buttons.

  
  


“ _ Gloves _ , Pete, look at the gloves!” Tyler erupted, already wearing his own and Pete's. 

  
  


Trent unbuttoned the fake beard that was attached to his new hat, grinning at William. “I'm all for every Christmas Eve being like this. Monumental showdowns in the streets an’ fistfights aplenty. But don't think we forgot you, sir!” He said, elbowing Tyler and bumping Pete's shoulder pointedly. “We banded together and got you a present. It's small, yeah, but er, Merry Christmas. From us.”

  
  


The present he pressed into Regal's hands was wrapped in three different papers, a little misshapen and lumpy. “You boys know I don't expect gifts.” William said sharply.

  
  


Pete rolled his eyes. “Jus’ open it, willya’?” He grunted sullenly. 

  
  


It was a pair of cufflinks with a matching tie clip. On the inside of the box lid was a message from the three young men:  _ Merry Christmas boss, hope you like it! From your lads Trent, Pete and (young) Tyler _ . William's usual snarky comments were suspiciously absent for a minute or two, his cough returning as he reached for a napkin on the table. If any of his men noticed the tears in his eyes, they were kind enough to avoid mentioning it.

  
  


At the table next to Regal and his rowdy bunch, Sheamus fussed over the wound above Ambrose's eye. Mite had parked on the floor between Dean's legs, their head resting on his thigh while the man absently stroked their hair. 

  
  


The whole room was full of people nursing cuts and bruises. Jeff limped from table to table, doing his best to help even with his strength all but gone. Matt followed him around with a bowl of spaghetti, demanding that he _eat_ _something, you're working yourself to death little bro!_

  
  


Roman hadn't stopped clinging to Baron, his face buried in the other man's chest while Baron rubbed circles on his back. Once Jeff had seen to Ember's shoulder, she and Braun sidled up to the two men. The conversation that took place was brief and Ember ended up hugging the both of them (after punching Baron in the shoulder). Braun gave Baron a gentle whack on the back of his head, grumbling all the while. 

  
  


Finn departed with Seth in tow once he had checked in on his brothers, the demon nodding a farewell to Jeff as he took Rollins’ hand. “Good luck Willa’. An’ Jeff, stay outta’ trouble now yeah?” 

  
  


Jeff just grinned at him, his eyes solid white. 

  
  


The Empress left silently, her colorful robes wrapped around her once again. The Deadman had yet to return to the Empire, still standing over the corpse of the Beast while the snow came down. She touched his shoulder as she passed, but he didn't even seem to notice. 

  
  


‘Taker eventually shook himself, shoved his hands into his pockets and headed back down the street.

  
  


...

  
  


The man who sat in the church pew was barely recognizable from the man that he had been over a year ago. A tailored charcoal suit accentuated his large form and leather gloves shielded his hands from the cold. The bright red scarf that wound around his neck and concealed the lower half of his face stood out oddly, the uneven knitwear obviously a gift from someone near and dear to him.

  
  


He stared up at the stained glass window behind the altar, entirely still aside from the motion of breath in his chest after he tugged his gloves off. Some intrepid soul had left a tiny menorah on the altar (no doubt in an attempt to be inclusive, despite Hanukkah being over already), little battery-powered candles flickering over and over in the same pattern. He found the repetition strangely comforting, his attention focused on the wavering light. 

  
  


When the church doors creaked open, he didn't pay it any mind. Just another individual come to ponder on Christmas Eve like he himself, or someone seeking sanctuary from the elements. Footsteps made their way up the aisle behind him and to his surprise a body sat down heavily in his pew, practically right next to him.

  
  


Out of the corner of his eye, Kane watched his half-brother remove the large, flat-brimmed hat that he always wore. A creature straight out of legend was the Undertaker, while Kane more closely resembled something from science fiction. 

  
  


_ Frankenstein and his monster _ .

  
  


The two of them sat in silence for a while. Kane was loathe to break it, having nothing to say to his half-brother whatsoever. ‘Taker finally sighed heavily. “You got out. Was it what you wanted?” The older man asked.

  
  


Kane fidgeted with the ring on his finger, a simple black wedding band framed with silver. “Yes.” He said firmly, still staring straight ahead. 

  
  


“Why did you come back, then?” 

  
  


“Figured I'd pay my respects to the dead one last time.” Their mother deserved that much. “She loved Christmas.”

  
  


‘Taker nodded, apparently satisfied. He stood, once more the terrible being of myth as he settled the hat back onto his head. His long black coat swirled around his body, a shroud of darkness to strike fear into the hearts of the feeble-minded. Kane saw the dip of his once-proud shoulders, though, saw the toll that age was taking on the man who had filled his body with lightning and tech until he was little more than a bastardization of humanity.

  
  


Kane had clawed his way back from the brink and he _would_ live on outside The City That Shows No Mercy. After this last goodbye, there was no reason to return. Nothing for him here but bad memories and old ghosts. His world stretched far beyond the city limits now, to where she waited for him and even further.

  
  


Without so much as a goodbye, the Deadman left him to his thoughts. It was all the farewell that Kane would get, and he was perfectly fine with that.

  
  


_ Merry Christmas from The City That Shows No Mercy _ , Kane mused as he rose and donned his own hooded coat. The sunrise began to pour through the stained glass windows, painting the aisle in vibrant jewel tones as he made his way to the door. 

  
  


_ Merry Christmas, and good riddance _ .

 


End file.
